


Dumb Television is Better Than Nothing

by Omnibard



Series: Cathedral of You [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Casual Interrogation, Cooking, Dark apartment, Everybody's convinced Ariel wants to suicide but she really just wants to cuddle on the couch, Night Driving, Other, Psychological Trauma, She needs Ignis, Telepathy, Those aren't even similar guys, late night television, pay better attention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 14:44:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13813365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omnibard/pseuds/Omnibard
Summary: Got questions?  Want to talk about it?Here's your mic!





	Dumb Television is Better Than Nothing

“You’re late.” Cor announced flatly as the girl climbed in the passenger side.

She didn’t look at him, only pulled her bag onto her lap with one hand and closed the car door with the other.  Once accomplished she reached for her seatbelt, “There was a guy.  He was watching me, so I took a few side-turns.”

“A guy.”

“A guy paying attention to a girl.” She replied, gaze fixed on the windshield, “Nothing important.”

“He  _ followed _ you?”

“Not long.”

 

It occurred to the Crownsguard Marshal that he sounded just as much as an overprotective father as he did an agent concerned about a possible leak in his operations.  It bothered him that his role here wasn’t too far removed from  _ either one _ .

“Did he ask you any questions?”

“Yes.”

“What did he--”

“--It doesn’t matter.  I didn’t answer him.”

“Suspicious of you.”

“Not really.” In his peripheral, he saw her head lean against the window, gaze still fixed forward, “He thought I was just another vain girl not giving him the time of day.”

 

He’d driven about a block before saying, “You could have talked to him.”

“I would have been more late.  He wanted my time and attention.  I wasn’t really interested.”

“You have to learn how to talk to people.  It takes practice.”

 

Finally she looked at him with her dark eyes, “I  _ know _ how to talk to people, Cor.  I know how to say all the nice and friendly things.  I was a high-class citizen before your agent found me in that… that  _ place. _  It just… doesn’t feel  _ safe to _ anymore…” Then she looked back out the windshield, leaning her head against the window again, “And like I said: I would have been  _ more late _ .”

 

‘Safe’.  The last six weeks had taught Cor new implications of this word.  Safety and security had been parts of his job, in various degrees of importance, since he was thirteen years old.  Now as the Marshal of the Crownsguard, he considered himself  _ well educated _ on the subjects.  In general, usual daily activities incurred a certain degree of  _ risk _ , but that did not necessarily qualify them as ‘unsafe’ for most people.

Most people were  _ not _ like Ariel.

When Ariel spoke her concerns about  _ safety _ or  _ security _ , she was very seldom concerned about her  _ own. _  The first and second weeks?  Into the middle of the third?  Yes.  She’d been a shattered, trembling creature wearing the skin of a teenage girl, afraid of every person and new thing.

And  _ destructive _ .

_ These days _ when she spoke about the safety or security of an action, inaction or circumstance… she was concerned about what she might unintentionally do to  _ others _ .  Like a loaded gun.  Or a landmine.

Cor remembered what it’d  _ felt like _ to have her  _ go off _ inside his head.  He remembered the temporary blindness, the fire in his sinuses as his nose gushed blood, and the gorge rising in his throat, choking any shout he might make.  He remembered how tightly all the muscles in his body clenched and how his hands shook uncontrollably.  He remembered pissing himself.

He didn’t remember how he’d managed to keep his composure.  Consequence of rigorous training and an often-times harrowing life, he supposed.

He remembered what it was like when she  _ went off _ in a room.  Electronics discharged into the  _ air _ , regardless of the previous condition or integrity of their circuitry.  Open flames flared huge, catching anything they touched ablaze.

He’d learned the hard way, more than once, the consequence of trying to  _ touch her _ in such circumstances.

 

It was for  _ this reason _ , primarily, he had insisted on her being placed under  _ his _ custody instead of any other Crownsguard agent’s.  Only  _ Clarus _ could boast a greater breadth of experience with the horrors the Empire consistently churned out than Cor, but  _ Clarus _ was positioned too close to the King to risk placing the girl under his care.

But something else she’d just said also claimed his attention, “You remember more?”

“It doesn’t matter… I’m not that person anymore…”

“You don’t know that.”

“ _ Cor. _ ”

He didn’t back down, “Your parents might be looking for you,  _ especially _ if you were--”

“--My parents  _ put me there. _  If they’re looking for me… I don’t… I don’t  _ want _ to be found.” Her voice was firm, “... And you don’t want that either.”

Cor frowned at the road, “... I told you to stop that.”

“I can’t help it.”

Ariel could speak with authority concerning the desires and intentions of others.  She could-- accurately, but not  _ consistently _ \-- ‘hear’ the thoughts of other people.

That sort of insight unnerved the Marshal more than any other power she possessed.  With her loyalty to the kingdom of Lucis  _ dubious _ at best-- despite how they’d rescued her from her despicable circumstances-- and her potential as a soldier or agent  _ questionable _ , her access to every secret in the Crownsguard and  _ Insomnia _ was  _ disconcerting _ .

Especially if there was someone  _ else _ listening to  _ her _ .

 

“There isn’t.  Maybe there was  _ supposed _ to be… but there isn't.”

“Ariel.”

She grimaced, “... I know you don’t believe me, but I’m telling the truth.--”

“ _ Quit. _ ”

The steel in his voice silenced her, but Cor knew she could still  _ hear him _ .  The car was suddenly  _ too small _ , too  _ cramped _ .  Too stifling.  Heat suffused his neck.

It was a mistake, he knew, to silence her.  What she heard, things she knew were things he ought to take advantage of.  But it was so much harder when she answered  _ his thoughts _ .

 

The apartment was dark when he pulled up, the blinds drawn as per his usual.  He did not park and she did not ask if he were coming up-- she’d learned that more often than not, after picking her up from the library at the high school, the Marshal went back to work.

 

She was too old to attend as a student, but Cor felt better about her being there reading than her sitting alone and unmonitored at his apartment-- or elsewhere.  If he ever got around to trusting her enough, he planned on sending her to self-defense training for the Crownsguard.  That would need approval over his head.  Clarus received updates and ruminated over whether or not King Regis ought to have an audience with their strange ward from the remote laboratories of Niflheim.  Cor advised him to  _ wait. _

 

“Don’t wait up.” He told her as she got out of the car.

“I don’t sleep when you’re out at night.” She replied.

“You don’t sleep when I’m  _ there, _ either.”

“No.” She shut the door before he could answer.  He watched her walk toward the front entrance where the doorman smiled and let her in before giving a small nod Cor’s way.

 

For the hundredth time, Ariel told herself she wouldn’t leave the apartment without leaving a light on.  She feared no  _ physical _ danger, but painful,  _ terrifying _ memories bloomed bright in the dark.

She remembered a time when she  _ hadn’t _ feared the dark.

It hadn’t seemed so  _ absolute _ then.

Her hand flew to the switch on the wall and even as the lights came on along the ceiling, she was moving to the remote on the end table to turn on the television.

She couldn’t stand the dark  _ or _ the quiet any more.

The Marshal’s apartment was just shy of  _ spartan _ .  It was a high-end let, and his furnishings were quality, but it was clear that he lived off very  _ little _ .  A couch, a chair, a small, modern coffee table and a flat screen television on a simple entertainment stand.  A laptop waited on the coffee table, the hard drive removed (and in Cor’s pocket) for the Marshal to return to his reports.  Behind the couch was the bar separating the kitchen from the living area.  The kitchen was large, permitting a small eating area in addition to the modern stools placed at the bar.  The two bedrooms were down the hall from the living area.  There was a sizeable balcony across from the front door.

Cor had a tamper-resistant lock on that door.  He didn’t want her out there.

He thought she might try to escape.

… Or kill herself.

 

The first few nights had been…  _ really rough. _  She felt bad for him.  The neighbors had complained about the screaming, and they still whispered about it.   _ What’s the Marshal doing with a teenage girl in his apartment?  What’s he doing to her? _

 

The evening talk-show host was going on about the newest movie releases.  Ariel didn’t listen, she just needed the  _ noise _ .

 

In the kitchen were a hundred ways for her to end her life if she were determined.  But she wasn’t.  Cor was well-meaning, but he thought too much like a soldier-- thought her too much an enemy imprisoned-- and it made everything…  _ Harder. _

Escape?  Where would she go?  How would she get there?

Spying?  For whom?  Niflheim?  Sure it was possible, but how would she get information back to the Emperor?

Hadn’t it been made clear from his own agent’s reports that her freedom from that chamber had been a  _ complete fluke _ ?

 

She just wanted to be away from the dark and the silence and the invisible blades cutting away at her.  She knew it was too much to ask to be away from all the  _ voices _ that echoed in the cathedral of her head or the howling in the desolate valley that was her heart.

Out of her pocket, she pulled a piece of notebook paper, crumpled from its journey, and she unfolded it to reveal the recipe she’d copied down from the library.  The Marshal had little time in the evenings for cooking, and she’d few opportunities to learn, but she could  _ try _ .

 

The lights and television were on when Cor returned late in the night.  Something smelt slightly burnt.  The late-night talk-show was talking celebrity gossip.  A covered plate waited on the bar.  The girl was curled up on a corner of the couch, sleeping.

Nothing on the covered plate looked burnt, and none of the scrubbed pans in the sink featured scorch marks.  The Marshal spent a long time considering the plate of food-- he’d seen  _ worse _ \-- and wondered if he dared eat it.

Shrugging out of the Crownsguard blazer and laying it over the back of the couch, Cor took the plate to the coffee table.  Before sitting, he reached over and nudged the girl on the shoulder with the back of his hand.

“Go to bed.  I told you not to wait up.”

She was alert immediately, but did not move, “... Can I stay here?  I’m comfortable…”

She hadn’t slept much at all the past week, Cor knew.  He heard her at night, getting up to pace her room.  Her restlessness kept  _ him _ from sleeping well too, as every movement in his apartment stirred finely-honed senses for threats.

“Fine.  Sure.  You need the television?”

“No.  Not if you’re here.”

He turned it off with the remote and picked up his laptop, removing the sleeved harddrive from his blazer pocket over his shoulder and sliding it home.  More reports tonight to go with late-night dinner.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Got questions? Want to talk about it? [Here's your mic! ](https://mtraki.tumblr.com/ask)


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